


Last Night of the Proms

by derryderrydown



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryderrydown/pseuds/derryderrydown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for spn_holidays for the prompt, <em>Sam wanting to go to prom and having something go wrong (supernatural or otherwise) with Dean having to come to the rescue</em>. Buffy said it best: "I'm gonna give you all a nice, fun, normal evening if I have to kill every person on the face of the earth to do it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Night of the Proms

"This totally sucks," Sam said. "I mean, it sucks _and_ it blows. That's how bad it is."

"You're going to prom, dude!" Dean reached over to the passenger seat and gave Sam a friendly punch.

Only he might have misjudged it because Sam scowled at him, said "Ow," and brushed at the sleeve of his rented tux.

"C'mon, what's so bad? You've got a hot date, you've got a suit, you've got a limo..."

Sam slouched still further. "I haven't got a limo. I've got my big brother driving us there in my dad's car."

"It's a cool car. And I promise I'll be the perfect chauffeur."

"There are guns under the seats," Sam pointed out. "And if she sticks her legs out too far, she'll stab herself on an axe."

"I vacuumed," Dean defended.

"Oh, good. No random charred remains in the carpet."

Dean sighed. "The suit?"

"It's too short."

"It wasn't too short when you tried it on."

"Well, I must've _grown_ since then." Sam stuck his arm out and, to be fair, there was a bit too much shirt cuff showing. "And the pants are worse!"

Dean felt like slamming his head against the steering wheel. "Date?"

"Margery Dawkins. I'm the only person who asked her. And she's the only person _I_ asked who didn't laugh in my face."

"A lot of ugly chicks end up looking good on prom night," Dean said.

"How would you know? You weren't even allowed to go to your prom."

Dean shrugged and waved a hand vaguely. "The arson charges were dismissed. The principal only banned me because I wouldn't bone her."

"Yeah, sure." Sam wiped fog off the window and squinted into the dark. "It's on the left here."

As the Impala bounced and jerked up the dirt track, Dean considered telling Sam to go and get this girl and bring her down the track on foot. But, no. Sammy was having a Prom. A Perfect Prom. And if that involved wrecking the Impala's suspension and destroying the results of the _hours_ Dean had spent waxing the car, so be it.

Sam would appreciate it.

One day.

"How far up here does she live?" he asked.

Sammy shrugged and pressed his nose against the glass. "I can see lights. I think."

Dean pulled up in front of the white, clapboard house with relief. "Okay, go get her." Just as Sam was getting out of the car, Dean leaned over. "Hey, you did get her a corsage, right?"

"Oh, shit," Sam said, and started grovelling in the footwell. "I know I put it in here." The box he finally retrieved was battered, muddy and had a streak of something Dean hoped was blood. If it wasn't blood, it was probably pie filling and that was harder to get out of the carpets.

"Leave the box here," Dean said. "The corsage'll probably be..." He looked at the thing in Sam's hand. "Um. It'll do?"

Sam sighed and dropped the box onto the passenger seat. "It's the last one they had. But she said she was going to wear white, so any colour'll go. Right?"

Dean wondered if _anything_ would go with a corsage _that_ vibrant and strangely vomit-like an orange. "Yeah. Sure. It'll look fine."

Sam just glared at him and trudged up to the porch.

The girl who answered the door was nearly as tall and gangly as Sam, with long, straggly, ginger hair. And she didn't look too eager to be going to prom. Considering her dress, Dean wasn't really surprised. It was pink. Vibrantly pink, with velvet and satin and pointy bits and it relied on a girl having more curves than Margery did, which meant she'd had to hitch up the top three times in the minute Sammy had been standing there. Even so, she had enough taste to look slightly horrified at the wilted corsage Sam thrust at her.

Dean gently bumped his forehead against the steering wheel.

* * *

By the time Dean pulled up in front of the school, the awkward silence had turned distinctly frosty. Sam complaining that Margery was wearing pink instead of white hadn't helped, especially when it got to the point where she was staring fixedly out of the window and even Dean could tell she was practically in tears.

But they were both safely inside the school and Dean was going to do one quick sweep, make sure the place was safe, then leave Sam to it. If Sam couldn't win over a girl, he didn't deserve the name Winchester.

The first thing Dean saw in the lobby was a cheerleader. Kind of an old-fashioned cheerleader, with a skirt down to her knees, but pretty cute anyway in a wholesome kind of way. He was about to strike up a conversation when she turned to look at him and he saw the glowing red eyes. And wasn't _that_ just fucking great?

He sprinted out the door and risked a look back to see if she was following. Of course, she was. It was shaping up to be that kind of night. He got to the Impala just in time to grab a shotgun from the trunk and blast her - and her pompons - to smoke. He sat on the edge of the trunk and rubbed the back of his head while he thought. In his experience, cheerleaders didn't often come singly. He'd previously considered this a good thing. A seriously, majorly good thing. A good thing to beat most good things. He was on the verge of changing his mind.

With a sigh, he shoved a handful of shells into his jacket pocket then reloaded the shotgun. "Be vewy, vewy quiet," he muttered. "I'm huntin' cheerleaders."

He found another one under the bleachers. The second was in the locker room and he managed to get the third just before it before it knocked a locker on top of him. He was startled to find a male cheerleader waiting for him when he went for a piss but he took care of it with his left hand while his right dealt with the business at hand.

He checked the locker room again and was surprised to find Margery hugging an older blonde woman. She'd changed her dress to something sleek and forest green and looked really quite good. At least Sam's date was improving. But then the blonde woman glared at him and he backed out, hands raised and muttering something about looking for the gents.

By the time he made his way back to the lobby, he was pretty much out of shells and he'd lost count of how many perky blonde girls he'd shot. And the perky blond boy. Couldn't forget him. No matter how hard he tried. Trouble was, the lobby was full of cheerleaders, including a couple he was pretty sure he'd shot at least once already. He leaned back against the wall and sighed heavily before peering round the door at the seething mass of attractive young girls.

God, this was so totally wrong it wasn't even funny.

They all seemed to be crowding round a display case. At the top of the case, over their heads, he could see a banner. "Errol J. Eckerman High - Regional Champion Cheerleaders!" In smaller letters it said, "First time since 1957!" Which at least explained the length of the skirts and the bouncing ponytails and the bobby socks. A haunted cheerleading trophy. Well, why the hell not?

Which meant it was time for some burning. Dean cheered up a little at the thought.

He checked his lighter was in his pocket and working, then stepped into the doorway. "Hey, you bunch of skank-ass bitches!" he yelled, then let loose with both barrels into the centre of the crowd. The cheerleaders smoked away for long enough for him to get to the display case, smash it with the butt of his shotgun, grab the trophy shield and run.

Perhaps, he thought, he should have got a good blaze going _before_ he made himself intensely desirable to every cheerleader in the mob. Then again, being chased by cheerleaders brought back memories of his own schooldays. He grinned as he vaulted a railing and found himself in the middle of a pile of discarded desks and chairs. He just had time to get a spindly chair burning and toss the trophy onto it before the first cheerleader appeared next to him. As the wood of the shield caught the flames, she screamed and melted away. After a moment, so did all her friends.

Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and used another chair to poke the trophy a little deeper into the flames. He watched for long enough to make sure it was thoroughly burned, then loaded the shotgun with his last two shells and headed back into the school for a final sweep.

He was down in the basement when he heard the faint sound of Blue Oyster Cult. Aha! The alterna-prom. The one with cute goth chicks and decent music and actual alcohol. He followed the music to the boiler room and pushed the door open with his foot. "Got room for another one?" he started to ask. But then he noticed the kid and the bags of fertiliser and the digital read-out and he sighed as he swung his shotgun up to his shoulder.

"Okay, kid. School sucks, they all hate you, yada yada. I'm still not letting you wreck my little brother's prom."

The kid was tall and scrawny with bushy hair and glasses. "Actually," he said, "I'm quite popular. I just have a thing about proms."

"You've just watched Heathers too often." Dean waved the gun. "Judging by the counter, you were planning on being out of here before it blew, so you're not looking to die."

The kid blinked. "Well, of _course_ I was going to be out of here. I'm far too intelligent to die young. It'd be a waste of what I can contribute to society."

"If you don't disarm that bomb in the next ten seconds," Dean said, "you'll die young." No point in telling the kid that he was only packing rock salt.

With a sigh, the kid started detaching wires. "It would have been a really good bang," he said wistfully.

Dean could understand it. "There's an old barn out on Seventeen Mile Road," he said helpfully. "You could blow that up?"

"Oh!" The kid sat up straight. "Great idea!"

"Any chance you could do it tomorrow, rather than tonight?" Dean said. "I'd like to see it go up but I'm stuck here for tonight."

"Sure!" The kid hefted a bag of fertiliser onto his shoulder. "Midnight?"

"Cool. See you then."

The kid waved and staggered out the door.

Okay, Dean thought and followed him upstairs. What was next?

A scream echoed down the corridor and Dean sighed. He was sure there hadn't been this much trouble at _his_ prom. Although that was possibly because he hadn't been there. The scream seemed to be coming from the gym, so Dean stopped at the doorway to take a look before marching on in and freaking everybody out. Maybe it was just that the wrong person had been crowned Prom Queen.

Okay, _that_ had never been likely but he hadn't expected somebody's date to apparently turn cannibal. A big guy in a classic tux was trying to snack down on a kid in full-on Prince Charming outfit. What a total moron, Dean thought as he took a flying leap onto the cannibal's back. Talk about overdoing the prom theme. It wasn't until he was clinging to the cannibal's shoulder that he noticed he was apparently made of clay.

"Leon!" a geeky-looking girl was yelling at the cannibal. "I made you to be the perfect date! You're not supposed to eat the quarterback!"

Ah, Dean thought. Golem. That was simple enough. He swung the shotgun round until the muzzle was against the golem's head, then let it have both barrels. It was just enough to crack the clay, so Dean wrapped his jacket sleeve around his fist and punched through until he could get hold of the slip of paper inside the golem's head.

As soon as it was in his fist, the golem lurched to a halt. It stood perfectly still for a moment, then the arm holding Prince Charming fell off, dumping the guy on the floor with a thud. Served him right, Dean thought. But he only thought it for a moment because then the rest of the golem crumbled away and Dean fell seven feet to land on a pile of pottery shards. "Ow," he said and hoped the pretty red-haired girl in the green dress would help him up.

She didn't. She was too busy helping up Prince Charming and dusting him off.

"Margery?" Prince Charming said and Dean groaned. "You were right," Prince Charming said. "I should never have approximated pi to eighteen decimal places. It made the whole equation hopelessly inaccurate."

"Shh," Margery said, pressing her finger to his lips. "It's okay. We can re-do it with pi to twenty places. We can still win the science fair."

"Oh, Margery," Prince Charming said. On cue, the lights came down and the music changed to something slow and smoochy, while Margery melted into Prince Charming's arms.

Oh, shit, Dean thought and looked round for Sammy. Who was standing right next to him. "We're going," Sam said.

Dean glanced over at Margery and Prince Charming, dancing in a spotlight. "Yeah," he said. "Probably a good idea."

* * *

"That," Sam said, "totally sucked."

"It could have been worse," Dean said.

Sam looked at him as if he had eight heads and they were all doing something particularly stupid. "My date dumped me in the middle of prom, to go off with a guy in knee breeches and a wig, after he'd been nearly eaten by a golem. Just how, exactly, could it have been worse?"

Dean opened his mouth to tell Sam _exactly_ what he'd spent the night doing but then just sighed. "Okay, it totally sucked," he said.

Sam unclipped his bowtie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. "I mean, all I wanted was a normal prom," he said. "With a stupid theme and teachers watching your every move and the punch getting spiked _anyway_ and a photo and a really _bad_ band. And then going to a hotel afterwards and losing your virginity." His eyes widened and he looked over at Dean. "Um, I mean, if you're the kind of loser who hasn't lost it already."

Yeah, right. Dean shared a bedroom with Sam. He'd know if the kid ever actually got some. "You didn't even like your date," he pointed out.

"I know." Sam kicked at the carpet disconsolately. "And the punch didn't get spiked and the band was pretty good. And I didn't even get a kiss. It totally sucked."

Dean sighed and pulled the car over. "You need to get laid to make this a perfect prom?"

"Um," Sam said.

"Right." Dean pulled his t-shirt over his head. "You're gonna get laid."

"Um," Sam said again.

"And then you can stop your whining," Dean said and grabbed Sam's shirt, pulled him in close. "Any objections?"

"No," Sam said, and kissed him.


End file.
